


Body Hair Drabbles - Pubefest 2020

by vondrostes



Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Armpit Kink, Bagpiping, Beards (Facial Hair), Body Hair, Body Worship, Bottom Harry, Come Marking, F/M, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, Polyamory, Rimming, Scent Kink, Shaving, Waxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20739719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: A short series of Harry-centric body hair kink drabbles to promote Pubefest 2020 on Tumblr!





	Body Hair Drabbles - Pubefest 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Like it says on the tin. Please visit @pubefest2020 on Tumblr and submit prompts or sign up!
> 
> Twitter: @vondrostes & @vondrostesupd8s  
Tumblr: @vondrostes

**Armpit:**

“You smell good.” The words tumbled out of Mitch’s mouth before he’d even registered the fact that he’d thought them, surprising himself as well as Harry, who peered down at him with a curious expression.

“Your face is in my armpit,” Harry reminded him, as though Mitch wasn’t already aware of that fact.

Mitch nodded, nuzzling his face deeper into the soft downy hair that paled in comparison to the growth most men had at Harry’s age. “Your armpit smells good,” he reiterated, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above Harry’s ribs with each syllable.

Sarah came back in then, with the coffee she’d offered to retrieve for them so they could work without flagging through the rest of the evening before heading out to meet the others at a nearby pub. She raised her eyebrows at the position she found them in.

“Do we even have time for that?” she asked sharply, but there was no judgment in her tone. Mitch knew that if Harry gave the go-ahead, she would go along with what he wanted, and the three of them would just have to miss out on their appointment with Tom and Adam for drinks if they couldn’t finish doing what needed to be done in whatever amount of time they had left.

Harry always came first.

Mitch darted his tongue out before Harry could answer, swiping it over the hollow of his armpit in an attempt to sway his decision. The soft hair dragged over the flat of his tongue in a way that was both arousing and repulsive, but Mitch still wanted more.

“I think we have time,” Harry breathed out in a high-pitched voice.

Sarah, to her credit, didn’t waste a single precious second as she stripped off her clothes quickly and efficiently as soon as the coffee had been set aside. There was usually a well-practiced rhythm to the way these things played out, but once she was naked, Mitch found himself wanting something different.

“Can I ask you for something?” Mitch inquired as Sarah made her way over to them. He extended his hand out to her; she took it and nodded despite her quizzical expression.

Mitch sat up a little and leaned over to maneuver Harry into a new position, on his side, facing Mitch, with his arm stretched out over his head. He was already naked. Harry was always naked.

“Remember when you rode his thigh?” Mitch murmured into her ear. He thought Harry could still hear him, but he wasn’t looking for Harry’s input this time. The conversation was between himself and Sarah for now.

Sarah nodded, her eyes widening a bit in anticipation. “You want to do that again?” she asked. She seemed surprised.

“Kind of.” Mitch leaned down again to grab Harry’s wrist with one hand, the other thumbing at his exposed armpit. “Do you think you could make this work?”

Sarah hummed in contemplation and pressed two fingers alongside Mitch’s thumb, sinking them into Harry’s skin until a sharp grunt left his mouth. “You might have to hold him down,” she replied.

“I can do that.”

“You don’t think you’re taking this whole armpit kink thing a little too far?” Harry finally questioned with his face half-buried in one of the pillows underneath him. Still, he made no attempt to move despite the skeptic slant to his eyebrows as Sarah attempted to clamber into place over him without accidentally kneeing him in the face.

“I like the way Sarah smells and I like the way you smell,” Mitch replied defensively. There was more to it than that, some deep, primal urge to bury his face into the crook of Harry’s armpit and bite at the soft flesh there, but Mitch had slightly more self-control than that. Not enough, though, to prevent him from asking his girlfriend to fucking scissor Harry’s armpit until she came, but it still wasn’t the strangest thing the three of them had ever done. “And I want to fuck you too once she gets you wet enough.”

That comment elicited the tiniest whimper from Harry, who stayed obediently still as Sarah carefully positioned herself with her cunt slotted into place against his armpit.

“You can let go of his arm now,” Sarah said as she reached down to take Harry’s forearm herself. She pulled it up to her chest, so she was straddling it like the pole on a carousel, and rocked forward once to test things out.

Harry wobbled, predictably. Mitch moved to place another pillow at his back to keep him from dislodging Sarah before lying back down next to him to watch as she rotated her hips, chasing her own orgasm as fast as she could manage without anything but the soft give of Harry’s armpit against her clit.

Mitch was close enough that he could smell Sarah’s arousal, which meant Harry could too. And there was still the sharp tang of Harry present in the air, mixed with Sarah’s scent, enveloping Mitch in a heady musk that had his cock thickening up without any stimulation at all.

By the time Sarah came—her body stiffening up like a board as a loud gasp exited her lungs, her thighs clamped tight around Harry’s chest until he was gasping too from a lack of air—Mitch was more than ready to take her place. He sat up eagerly just as Sarah collapsed onto the bed on Harry’s other side, leaving Mitch enough room to line himself up with his dick in the crease of Harry’s armpit as his arm lay loosely against his side.

Mitch’s grip was iron-solid as he pinned Harry’s wrist to his own hip, forcing him to stay tight as Mitch sawed his dick into Harry over and over again. He was plenty wet thanks to Sarah, and the sound of Mitch’s cock fucking in and out of the small pocket of flesh under Harry’s arm was strangely reminiscent of a pussy, which only made Mitch harder. The most noticeable difference was the added friction from Harry’s hair, matted together with Sarah’s come, but right now that didn’t feel like much of a downside.

Mitch didn’t pull out before he came. He spilled hot and wet and overflowing into the hollow of Harry’s armpit, adding to the mess there that Sarah had created, and then kept going, stroking in and out until pleasure started to turn to pain instead.

Finally, Mitch sank back onto his heels, his dick and Harry’s armpit both disgusting messes. Surprisingly, that didn’t subdue the urge to bury his face in Harry’s armpit much at all. But there would be time for that later. In the shower, preferable.

But first—

“Sarah, you good?” Mitch asked. He nudged Harry over onto his back again and reached down to take Harry’s hard cock in his hand.

Sarah reached over and laid a hand on top of Mitch’s in answer, her smaller grasp almost completely covering the head of Harry’s cock. She squeezed a little, making Harry shiver.

Sometimes, Harry came last.

**Beard:**

“You planning to keep it?”

It took Jack a few seconds to register that the question had even been aimed at him, even though he and Harry were completely alone in Harry’s kitchen and there was no one else the query could have been intended for.

“Hmm?”

“The beard,” Harry clarified, his eyebrows shooting up a centimetre as he stared at Jack from over the blender he’d been using to make their early afternoon margaritas. “Are you going to keep it?”

“Do you not want me to?” Jack wondered. He reached up a hand to stroke over the hair covering his chin and jaw, curious what had prompted Harry to ask in the first place.

Harry shook his head seriously. “No,” he replied. “No, I rather like it like this.”

After their margaritas were made, the two of them retired to the back garden to sit in the pool, like they’d done every afternoon so far this week. It was meant to be a holiday, but so far it felt more like a summer slump. The heat from the sun shining down on them was unrelenting, mitigated only slightly by the water swirling around their knees. It wasn’t long before Jack couldn’t take anymore of it, and he set his half-empty glass down on the deck before slipping fully into the water to try and cool off.

“This place is mental, you know,” he commented as he swam in slow circles within the deeper portion of the L-shaped pool.

“So you’ve said,” Harry replied with a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Jack ducked under the water without acknowledging Harry’s response. It was impossible to see them clearly without goggles on, but there was a glass panel along an entire wall of Harry’s pool that housed jellyfish in a large aquarium located in the subfloor of the house—not a basement, Jack had learned, because technically the back garden wasn’t even accessible from the ground floor.

The place was an aging billionaire’s dream home, and Harry had only acquired it recently, but none of it seemed to fit the person Jack knew, and he couldn’t understand why Harry was still paying thousands of dollars every month to maintain a pointless jellyfish aquarium in a house he’d spend less than half the year in.

When Jack came up for air again, Harry had stripped out of his swim shorts and was reclining on the edge of the pool, his legs crossed over one another with his cock tucked away, out of sight. Jack arched an eyebrow and swam closer, bracing his palms flat on either side of Harry’s arse.

“Trying to seduce me?” Jack asked.

“Just don’t want you getting bored,” Harry replied.

Jack looked him up and down, his mind racing with possibilities. “Do you think you can hold yourself up while I eat you out?” he mused.

Harry’s eyes widened in obvious interest. “I’m sure I can manage,” he said.

Less than a minute later, Harry was balanced on his elbows while Jack held up his legs with a hand cupping the underside of each knee, his mouth buried between Harry’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Harry panted while Jack continued his merciless onslaught with his tongue. This was one of Harry’s favourite bedroom activities, so Jack had had plenty of practice by now. “You’re scratching the shit out of me.”

Jack pulled away slightly to glance up at Harry in concern. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked. It didn’t sound like Harry wanted him to stop.

“Fuck no.”

Harry’s arse was red and inflamed from the abrasion of Jack’s beard later, when he hooked two fingers into him to coax out a second orgasm after Harry had already come once on his tongue. He could barely sit afterwards, and once they made it out of the pool and into the house again, Jack decided that something needed to be done.

“Are the aesthetics still worth it to you?” Jack asked as he carefully applied some aloe vera between Harry’s arsecheeks in an effort to mitigate the beard-burn he’d left there. “I don’t mind shaving if it makes things easier. You’re a mess.”

Harry, who was face down on the bed with his arms crossed under his head as a makeshift pillow, turned his head to peer over his shoulder at Jack while he worked. “You really think I wanted you to keep it for the aesthetic?” he asked archly before letting out an amused snort.

Jack frowned. The idea of Harry trying to navigate his life while suffering from near-constant beard burn to the point where he couldn’t sit comfortably for more than ten seconds at a time—or the alternative: that they only reserve Jack eating Harry out for special occasions—seemed every bit as impractical as the stupid jellyfish aquarium that Jack had slowly come to resent over the past few days.

“I’m shaving,” Jack finally decided. He held up a single finger, sensing Harry’s inevitable protest before it could be voiced. “But only at the end of the week.”

Harry wrinkled his nose in displeasure before turning back around again. “Better make it count, then,” he said with a sigh.

**Torso:**

Ben came crashing through the doorway to his bedroom with Harry fully attached, his legs around Ben’s waist while his arms clung tight to Ben’s neck. Meri and Ruby were gone for the weekend, visiting Meri’s parents, which was the only reason they had the freedom to be so indiscreet—Ben had intended on going with them originally, but had to beg off for reasons related to work.

And because Harry was home, if Ben was being perfectly honest with himself.

“You’re going to make me late,” Ben lamented after tossing Harry onto the bed, where he bounced once before landing with his arms and legs splayed out, his mouth open as he panted heavily, as though he’d been the one carrying another human being all the way up the stairs.

“So be late,” was Harry’s inevitable response. Ben couldn’t even count the number of times that Harry had made him late for some work thing or other. It was his special talent.

Ben yanked his jumper over his head with one hand and immediately got to work on his trousers next. Harry just stared, still fully clothed, like he’d never seen Ben naked before.

“What?” Ben demanded, pausing with his fly undone. “I haven’t sprouted extra nipples to match yours, have I?”

Harry didn’t answer. Then suddenly— “I shaved,” he blurted out.

Ben lifted an eyebrow. “I can see that,” he replied. Harry had been sporting quite a bit of lazy stubble in recent months, but when he’d arrived that morning, he’d been immaculately clean shaven, looking more like the teen Ben had once felt so responsible for in years past.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I mean, I shaved. Like, everything.”

“Oh.” Ben was surprised to hear that. Harry had complained more than once about the maintenance being too much, so much so in fact that Ben had just told him to stop altogether if it was that much of a pain. Ben had never minded the extra hair, but he was a bit older, and he’d always supposed that some of Harry’s shags had grown up in a different time, with different expectations for grooming. Not that any of that should have applied to Harry in the first place, but…there were a lot of rules that Harry was the exception to.

“Is that a bad ‘oh’?” Harry asked. His brow was furrowed a bit, and he’d shrunk in on himself slightly in the few seconds that had passed.

Ben was quick to shake his head in reassurance. “I liked it well enough before, didn’t I?” When what he and Harry were doing had still been new, when they’d secreted those desires behind locked doors with the curtains drawn—back then, Harry had reveled in the difference between their bodies, a difference that had slowly mattered less to them both as time marched on.

Harry visibly relaxed, his limbs loosening until he’d all but melted into the mattress. “That’s what I was thinking about when I did it,” he confessed.

Ben’s eyebrows crept a little higher. “Really?” he said, moving forward as he reached down again to peel off his trousers before kneeling on the edge of the bed. He slowly scooted closer to Harry, who stared at him unblinkingly through wide eyes. “I thought you were more enlightened now,” Ben continued. “What was it you said before? That you wanted to ‘transcend the boundaries of masculine and feminine, not be bound by them’?”

Harry went a little pink at the reminder of his less-than-sober epiphany, but he didn’t back down. “Can’t I indulge in wanting to go back to my roots every now and then?”

“And what roots are those?”

“Oh, you know, just the primal caveman-esque need to have a much larger man fucking the ever-living shit out of me.”

Once upon a time, Harry’s answer would have been something he would never have said aloud. Ben would have had to pry it out of him—at a cost—or else, hope and guess that Harry wanted what he thought he wanted. But Harry had grown bolder with age, more self-assured. Apparently, he was confident enough in himself now to admit that he’d never really grown out of the desires he’d had when he was younger.

“And that desire couldn’t be satiated in a more natural state?” Ben wondered. He wasn’t trying to offend Harry, or discourage him. Really. He was just curious about why Harry had suddenly changed his mind with no discernible catalyst to precede his decision.

“There’s something special when it’s like this, don’t you think?” Harry replied as he reached for Ben’s hand, pulling him closer, between his thighs so they were lined up belly to belly; Ben’s coated in a dusting of dark hair, Harry’s now as smooth as Meri’s. “When you’re you and I’m me, and we’re not the same anymore?”

Harry placed both palms against Ben’s chest as Ben leaned over him. Harry dragged his hands down slowly over the length of Ben’s torso, scraping his blunted fingernails through the coarse curls covering his chest and stomach, down to the thicker patch between his legs, where Harry finally wrapped both hands around the shaft of Ben’s cock, positioning him at Harry’s arse, which was already wet, Ben was surprised to discover. He wasn’t sure when Harry’d found the time for that, but he certainly wasn’t complaining with how long they’d dragged this out already.

“You gonna fuck me already?” Harry demanded.

“If that’s what you want,” Ben teased. He tilted his hips forward, nudging up against Harry’s hole and applying just enough pressure to make him gasp before drawing back again. “Should I do some caveman grunts while I’m destroying you then?”

Harry somehow managed to look desperate and unimpressed all at once. “Just the destruction will suffice, I think.”

“You sure? I don’t mind indulging the fantasy if that’s what you want.” Ben shifted closer again, reaching down to hold his cock steady as he pushed in with more intent this time, pushing until Harry finally pushed back, and then sliding in with an unsteady exhale. “Are we Neanderthals or homo sapiens?” he continued a bit breathlessly as he rocked into Harry’s body with slow, testing strokes.

“Homo sapiens,” Harry panted. “Definitely homo sapiens.”

Ben leaned down and pushed both of Harry’s wrists up over his head, bracketing Harry’s body with his larger one, until it was like he was eclipsing him completely. “Like this?” he asked as he sped up the pace of his strokes.

Harry nodded, his mouth slack as he stared up into Ben’s eyes with an almost disconcertingly piercing gaze. Like staring into the sun. Which made Ben the moon, hiding him from the world, letting only a halo of light escape, keeping the rest for himself.

Ben had to stop himself before the metaphor got anymore out of control, focusing instead on fucking Harry senseless, like he’d requested. Maybe Harry’s psychedelic epiphanies were contagious. Or maybe it was just Harry himself who was catching. Maybe Harry had been right, that they needed to become two people again, the masculine and the feminine, even if only for one night.

**Pubes:**

“I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

Harry was in a familiar position—his arms hooked under his knees, legs tucked against his chest, a pillow under his lower back—but the context of it couldn’t have been more daunting for Xander, who had never before found himself with the sort of responsibility Harry had suddenly thrust upon him.

“You read the instructions, didn’t you?” Harry sounded a little put out, like he’d expected more from Xander than he’d actually gotten.

“Of course,” Xander hastily reassured him before taking another quick glance at the packaging on the waxing kit Harry had bought specifically for this purpose. “I just…I don’t want to hurt you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Pain sort of comes with the territory,” he pointed out. “Besides, you know I kind of like it.”

“Surely not like this,” Xander protested. Having all the hair ripped out of such an intimate area seemed like the kind of thing that was beyond even the bounds of Harry’s seemingly insatiable masochism.

Harry made a strange face before replying. “You’d be surprised,” he said, before quickly adding, “I thought you wanted it like this.”

Technically, Xander had envisioned only being around for the aftermath of Harry’s appointment with a professional aesthetician, not being directly involved in the process himself. This sort of felt like he’d ordered a hamburger and been served a living cow to slaughter, butcher, and cook himself.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t _entirely_ fair, but still.

“If I’ve somehow given you the impression that I don’t like it when you haven’t waxed,” Xander said feebly, “I’m very sorry.”

Harry laughed, his whole body shaking with it. “You didn’t think I asked you to do this as a punishment, did you?”

Xander shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish now. “Maybe a little bit,” he admitted.

Harry laughed again. “It’s not a punishment, Xander. I just thought we could enjoy the process together this time.”

Xander looked down dubiously at the small pot of liquid wax sitting on the wax warmer. “Where do I start?” he wondered.

“It helps if you’ve got a bit of a lob-on first,” Harry replied casually. “I mean, me,” he clarified. “Not you. Not that you can’t have one, too, but—”

Xander cut off Harry’s rambling by wrapping a hand around the base of Harry’s cock, which had already perked up a bit in interest the second his clothes had come off. “Does having a hard-on really help?” he asked.

Harry nodded, his breaths coming quicker now. “Almost died of embarrassment the first time it happened at an appointment, but the waxer said it makes things a bit easier. You should start right underneath. You remember what it usually looks like?”

Xander nodded. The image of what Harry had looked like the first time he’d gotten naked for Xander was branded somewhere onto his cerebral cortex, he was pretty sure. Harry had somehow managed to wrestle the information out of him beforehand, too, that Xander was more grossed out by the thought of getting a stray pubic hair in his mouth than he was by the idea of putting his mouth on someone’s asshole. It didn’t make much sense, and Xander had been a little embarrassed to admit as much, but Harry had taken it in stride and adjusted accordingly.

Harry had always waxed down below, but he tended to leave the top untouched, which Xander also preferred. Their age difference was stark enough; he didn’t need the visual reminder that he was robbing the cradle, and Harry’s pubic hair was a lot softer when he left it untrimmed. Sometimes Xander just liked to run his fingers through it, without ever really touching Harry at all.

Xander’s focus was elsewhere for now, though. He slathered on a bit of the wax over Harry’s balls, stretching the skin taut as he worked before carefully applying the strip. “Tell me when,” he said nervously. He still wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t do irreparable damage somehow by completely butchering the technique.

Harry was silent for a few seconds before nodding. “Should be all right now,” he said.

Xander took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the edge of the wax strip, and pulled hard.

Harry jolted upright, a gust of air jetting out of his lungs with a loud whoosh as his eyes shot open. “First one always gets me,” he said as he relaxed once again, his eyes returning to their sleepy, half-lidded state.

“Should I keep going?” Xander asked.

Harry’s voice was throaty with easily recognizable arousal when he answered. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

**Nipple:**

David wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up here.

He remembered most of the party, and he didn’t feel like he’d been anywhere close to blackout drunk when he’d left, but when he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar bed with his face smashed into a pillow, a disconcertingly nostalgic scent filling his nose.

When David sat up and opened his eyes, he discovered that he was in a room filled with soft candlelight. The bed next to him was empty, giving him little idea as to where he’d woken up and how he’d gotten there.

Then the door opened to reveal a long, sinuous silhouette. The dark shape moved fluidly into the room, but it wasn’t until they drew close enough for the candles at the foot of the bed to cast a warm illumination onto their face that David realised who it was.

“How drunk was I?” David wondered, rubbing at one eye as Harry moved closer before climbing into bed beside him.

“You had a few too many glasses of champagne,” Harry replied nonchalantly. “We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried.” David turned slightly to look directly at Harry, trying to find some semblance of the boy he’d known so many years ago in the newly-hardened planes of a much-changed face. “You could have just gotten me a car home,” he pointed out.

“You were very insistent on coming home with me,” Harry replied with a touch of humour in his voice. “If I didn’t know any better—”

“That’s not fair,” David said quickly, before Harry had a chance to finish his thought.

Harry glanced up at him, silently, and slid down into a flat position on his back. He was undressed, David noticed for the first time. His body was different now, carefully sculpted in a way that accentuated his chest rather than his arms. The flickering candlelight surrounding them only served to highlight that even further. And now that David was looking, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.

“Can I touch you?” David wondered.

Harry nodded, surprising him a little with his answer. “If you want.”

_Of course I want to_, David wanted to say, but he couldn’t make the words come out. Instead, he rolled over onto his side, reaching out with a trembling hand to trace a single finger along the underside of Harry’s chest, making him shiver at the light touch.

Harry’s nipples pebbled up instantly, drawing David’s attention to them like a homing beacon. “You’ve got more hair now,” David noted as he reached up to brush a thumb over one of Harry’s hardening nipples, surrounded now in a light dusting of dark hair, rather than the peach fuzz that used to cover the entirety of his torso aside from a few stray strands in the centre once upon a time.

“That is how aging works,” Harry replied drily.

David ignored him. “I like it,” he said, before pinching a single strand of hair between his fingers and pulling. The flesh moved with it, like an anchor, and David could see Harry’s breath visibly hitch in his throat at the sudden pain of the gesture. “If you want me to stop…” he said.

Harry shook his head. “No,” he responded throatily.

David released the short strand of hair, moving instead to another on the other side of Harry’s chest. He pulled that one just as hard, and in the same instant, shoved the duvet down past Harry’s waist, revealing the semi Harry was already sporting thanks to the pain. David ducked his head down to latch his mouth around Harry’s other nipple as he continued to tug and twist the hair sprouting from the second, the sharp gasps emanating from Harry’s mouth like music to his ears.

“Don’t touch yourself,” David said, pulling away just long enough to issue the warning to Harry with fire in his eyes. “Want you to come from this.” He already knew Harry could, but he waited for Harry to nod in confirmation before reattaching his mouth to Harry’s nipple again and resuming his torment.

It didn’t take long before Harry started to shift restlessly against the sheets, his hands clenching and unclenching against his sides. David lifted his head again to glance down at Harry’s cock, which was fully hard against his belly now, leaking steadily, the pre-cum pooling into the hollow of his belly button. David was torn between the desire to lap up Harry’s wetness and the overwhelming need to get his mouth back onto Harry’s tits. He decided on the latter. If Harry was good, he’d clean him up with his tongue after.

But for now—David slid the flat of his tongue over the nipple he’d previously been abusing with his fingers, soothing the sore skin even as he started to pull at the hair on the one he’d neglected in favour of sucking on before.

Harry’s cries were coming in harsh little whimpers now, and David knew it wouldn’t be long. In unison, David bit down on Harry’s left nipple, and yanked hard on the hairs from the right, making Harry wail as his body went completely rigid. David lifted his head, still tugging at Harry’s nipple hair as he turned to watch the come pouring out of Harry’s cock onto his stomach, almost covering the ink of his butterfly tattoo completely.

“Good to know you’re still easy for a bit of pain,” David said with no small amount of wonderment.

Harry stared up into his face, panting hard. “Some things never change,” he replied.


End file.
